


Sean, please ...

by wildflowersinthemeadow



Category: M:I-2, Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Power Play, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildflowersinthemeadow/pseuds/wildflowersinthemeadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>how the scene with the cigar cutter should have ended - Stamp/Ambrose</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sean, please ...

**Author's Note:**

> Ambrose and Stamp are my OTP in this movie. Because let's face it - Hugh Stamp was the love of Ambrose's life, which he only realized once the man was killed. 
> 
> I prefer to think that they lived happily ever after.
> 
> note: I tried to stay true to the dialogue as far as possible, but in the end took a few liberties with it, for the plot's sake.

The morning sun was seeping through the large bedroom windows, illuminating the sleeping Nyah on the bed. Stamp was watching her carefully, like a lynx fixating his prey, trying to figure out whether she was really sleeping or faking it. Like he did from the moment she got back here.

Ambrose, on the other hand, was rather cheerful this morning. They were sitting in black arm chairs, on opposite sides of a round glass table covered with papers, everyone dwelling on their own thoughts. Ambrose took a sip from the whisky glass on the table and studied the latest bidding picture with a large, rather old-fashioned magnifying glass.

"37 Million Pounds," he finally said, not unhappily. "That's a promising bid."

Hugh was only listening half-heartedly. "Yeah, sounds good," he replied, a bit lost in thought. His sharp eyes were still on Nyah.

Ambrose threw a glance towards him and rolled his eyes. "Don't look so grimly, Hugh." He then reached for Nekhorovich's camera on the table, took out the little chip, put it in a miniature plastic case and finally let it slip into a white envelope, handing it over to the other man.

"We'll need this at the track." While Hugh took the envelope from him and let it slip into the inside of his jacket, Ambrose stretched contently, like a cat and purred: "Well then. Sorted."

That was the moment Hugh had enough. He got up from the seat he was sitting in and rather harshly closed the screen door separating the bedroom from the lounge they were located in.

"Not everything," he replied curtly. Hesitated for a moment. Sat down in the arm chair again and looked at Ambrose. "Why do you think she is really here?" he asked with his thick, Australian accent.

Ambrose smirked. "From her point of view or mine?"

Stamp made a grimace. "Wasn't exactly begging for it when she left you six months ago ... the question is: Do you trust her?"

Ambrose' face darkened. He answered nothing but reached for the cigar case and cutter in his robe. Suggestively, he placed a cigar between his lips and, never looking away from Hugh, pointedly cut the end of it. The razor-sharp noise cut not only the tip of the cigar but also the thick air between them. Stamp swallowed.

"If one considers her timing, of course - " Ambrose continued, "getting nicked within a week of the plane going down. Suggestive, even borderline suspicious, but hardly conclusive."

With this, he took the cigar from his mouth, pouted his lips and sharply blew into the cigar cutter, letting little particles of tobacco swirl through the air. Stamp swallowed again, not being able to look away from those full, suggestive lips of Sean's.

He had fallen for his boss pretty much from the first moment they met. And who could blame him? Sean Ambrose was one hot fucker. Stamp had quickly become Ambrose' confidante, best friend and occasional fuck buddy. That is, until that bitch Nyah had stepped into Sean's life. Stamp hated her guts from the beginning, he never understood what Ambrose saw in her anyway and he was more than happy when she finally left and he had Ambrose for himself again. But now she was back and it all went down from there.

Suddenly, a hand on his woke Stamp from his thoughts. He spun around and looked at Ambrose. Sean's left hand was holding his wrist, pressing it down on the cold glass surface of the table.

"Tell me, _Hugh_ ," Ambrose suddenly hissed, "you don't exactly hang on Nyah's every word and gesture, do you?" He paused. "Fairly ratty nail, that," he suddenly pointed out. They both threw a glance at Stamp's hand still being pressed on the table and the only finger showing - the pinkie with a rather long nail.

The other man did not know what to answer. He looked at Ambrose' hand on his, unable to look away and he forgot how to think and he felt his heart thump in his throat. "Sean ... " came the weak reaction. Hugh did not recognize his own voice.

"Wha ... " but before Stamp could finish, Ambrose was behind him, still holding on to Hugh's left wrist, now twisting the whole arm behind Stamp.

"Sean, please ... " Hugh pleaded, squirming under the pain, sinking to his knees to somehow escape it, but Ambrose's grip on him did not let much space for escape or movements. With a shock, Stamp suddenly felt cold metal against his finger in question. _His finger was inside the cigar cutter_. He thought he would pass out from that alone.

"Don't move," Ambrose suddenly hissed in his ear and Hugh shivered at the warm breath on his skin, mingled with whisky and the cigar Sean just had balanced between his lips. To his own shock Stamp discovered how turned on he was. 

He closed his eyes, praying, he did not even know for what. Release. More. Sex. 

He felt how Ambrose' free hand ran up his spine and caressed the side of his neck. Then, Ambrose' tongue was there, licking a stripe along his skin. Suddenly he felt teeth and they bit and tugged on his earlobe. Stamp let out a moan. 

The teeth scraped along his skin, biting, tugging, a flickering tongue tasting now and then. And then he felt a hand on his pants, cupping his already half hard dick. All the while Ambrose was still holding Stamp in a merciless grip. For a moment, Hugh forgot how to breathe.

"Don't move," a stern voice again commanded in his ear. Stamp, his eyes still closed simply nodded. 

Sean unzipped Stamp's fly, released his cock and roughly jerked it. Again, he was rewarded a longing moan. Precum was leaking from Stamp's prick already and Ambrose wetted it with it, rubbing, letting the foreskin slide again and again over the sensitive tip. When he almost had Stamp begging for it, he began jerking again. His hand thrust up and down Stamp's dick and Hugh, not knowing what to concentrate on - the sharp metal around his finger, Ambrose' hot breath and teeth against his skin or his hand on his dick - was but a mumbling mess underneath his boss. For this is what Ambrose was in this moment - he owned him, controlled him, every movement and he was absolutely superior.

"Sean, please ... " the other man pleaded again. It was all so hot and sweet and he wanted nothing but come, there and then, not caring about anything else. _Release_.

"That's it ... come for me ... " he heard dirty whispers in his ear. The jerks and tugs on his dick became faster and harder and he was close, so close. Stamp threw back his head, trying to lay it on Ambrose' shoulder and - not caring any more where he was or who could hear him - came hard with a cry. Ambrose jerked him through the orgasm, making the man shudder and spray his cum again and again. 

Just as fast as the moment had began it broke off. Suddenly, Ambrose was gone and Stamp kneeled there, on the floor, covered with cum, shaking, little drops of sweat running down his skin. 

When he opened his eyes, Ambrose was back in his seat again, casually looking through the papers and smoking his cigar, as if nothing had happened. But Hugh exactly noticed the smirk playing around his boss's lips.

Ambrose looked up from the papers: "Go clean yourself, you look like a mess."  
Still lost somewhere in the orgasm, Stamp just nodded, slowly got up to his feet and was about to leave the room.

"Oh, and Hugh?" he heard Ambrose call.

Stamp turned around. "Yes?"

"Don't ever question my judgement again." The tone left no room for protest or questions.

Stamp simply nodded, turned around and was gone.

It was only now that Ambrose put down the papers, looked at the door that Stamp had just disappeared through and mused, still contently smoking his cigar. That had been nice. It had been long ago since he and Stamp had fucked for the last time and Ambrose asked himself, why actually? All of a sudden, he became aware what he had missed for a long time.

His glance fell on the screen door behind which Nyah was sleeping.

_Really. Who needed Nyah anyway?_


End file.
